Battembang didn't grab me as a place to stay, even for one night; I didn't like the hostel I first looked at (someone was grinding their way through DIY on the patio at the entrance and the room available had no window. It reminded me of the night and best part of a morning I spent in bed at a hotel in Manchester several years ago. I'd gone to sleep with the curtains closed only to awake at a time that felt like morning and still be immersed in total darkness. My brain interpreted this as meaning it wasn't yet time to get up and so I went back to sleep. This process continued for what seemed like an eternity, until my back ache got the better of me and I got out of bed.....to draw the curtains and find myself staring at the wallpaper. There was no window and I had slept right through until midday. Since then I tend to avoid rooms with no windows, aside from that I find the lack of visual space outside tends to create an air of claustrophobia).
So instead I put myself into the hands of a moped taxi driver and together we roamed around town looking to accomplish some basic chores; taking out cash, feeding my hunger and lastly booking a bus ticket out of Battembang for that evening. It was to be a day of travelling but I didn't mind pushing on.
I took the very back seat of the bus, fully intent on protecting the territory to my left as two unoccupied seats offered a rare opportunity to get my head down and sleep. As the bus took off from Battembang, it was me and thirty or so Cambodians; no travellers, no backpackers, no English. The majority of the occupants were children, many naked as the day they were born, sporting all manner of wild and beautiful manes of hair, occasionally turning and flashing incredible smiles at the strange occupant at the back of the bus. It was roughly forty five minutes into the trip when things started to go wrong; it was also hot and humid, helping to create a rather pungent staleness that lingered the entire journey. I was typing away on the laptop, playing catch up on my blog, when the bus started to develop a motion more akin (I imagine) to riding a penny-farthing down Ben Nevis. The bus pulled to a sudden halt on the side of the road and all the men on the bus promptly stood up and got off. Not wanting to lose face and keen to be seen as 'one of the men' I downed tools and made my way off the bus to the growing gathering at the rear axle. It was getting dark but even so I could see the damage quite clearly; a huge gash down the side of the tyre and one that needed more than ten minutes of TLC.
Darkness and a sense of helplessness were both soon upon us, as were the mosquitoes; we'd managed to stop right beside a swamp, the mosquito equivalent of strolling straight into a beehive. I could feel my ankles already starting to itch before I'd even reached for the D50 repellent. Thirty minutes in and the bus repairs were now under way but it would seem slightly hampered by the lack of torchlight. The scene began to develop something of a surreal quality as nobody could see anything, let alone the underside of a ten tonne bus that needed to be jacked up and have its rear wheel repaired. I was starting to lose hope and fear that the stack of plastic chairs they'd placed as a marker in the road weren't quite going to make the grade as a warning triangle for oncoming traffic.
Clearly this situation wasn't ideal. We're on the side of the road next to a swamp, it's me, thirty Cambodians, a broken down bus and no discernible source of light; humidity was getting the better of me and I was now beginning to sweat, which wasn't pleasant as salt doesn't tend to mix too well with D50 mosquito repellent. I tried to ignore my stinging forehead and get involved in the unfolding chaos; the light issue had now been partially resolved with the use of a mobile phone. However, it would seem this particular mobile phone had to play a bollywood style ring tone in order for the screen to light up. So there we were, standing around in silence watching two men take off a wheel tyre to the sound of a Bollywood track, accompanied by the horns of passing traffic no doubt fearing for their lives at the sudden appearance of a stack of plastic chairs and an enormous bus.
With the wheel removed in semi darkness, it was now time to locate the replacement. I retired back to the bus assuming this part of the process was less complicated and hoped we'd soon be on our way. I had no room reservation arranged for Phnom Phen and was still hoping we'd arrive at a reasonable hour for me to find somewhere for the night. The five hour journey was scheduled to get me there for ten o’clock, however it was now looking more like midnight. As I began typing away on the laptop, I heard grinding sounds coming from the front of the bus. They'd found the spare tyre, but as I soon discovered, nobody had the key to the chain keeping the tyre in place under the chassis. The sounds I heard were initial attempts to literally crow bar the wheel from the bottom of the bus. I felt fairly useless at this point and decided to try and directly lend a helping hand. The light issue had still not been resolved and I saw this as an opportunity to make my mark. I suggested using my camera flash as a light and duly brought it back for duty. It sounded feasible in theory, however the flittering strobe of the flash had the unfortunate affect of nearly sending the makeshift mechanic into an epileptic fit. Given he was the only man who seemingly knew what he was doing, this was not the best idea I'd ever had. I retreated back into the expectant crowd and continued to anxiously listen as the grinding of the crow bar played out against the bollywood ring tone, now on its third loop.
Twenty minutes on from my flash episode and two hours into the breakdown we're still standing at the side of the road. With the spare wheel resolutely refusing to be broken from its chains, I started to prepare myself psychologically for a night on the bus. Just then a woman to my left engaged me in conversation; her English was fairly broken and tinted with American pronunciation. "I'm from Philadelphia" she said, which was more of a surprise than being addressed in English. We exchanged small pleasantries as she explained how she'd lived in the US for 15 years. Through the darkness I could see her face was somehow contorted and disfigured. As I turned away from our conversation the lights from a passing truck momentarily lit up her face, revealing horrendous third degree burns. It was a vivid image that immediately instilled in me a sense of pain and suffering. Whilst I felt real compassion for the woman it only added to my growing sense of uneasiness and isolation.
The spare tyre was eventually broken free with the use of pliers and a monkey wrench. At this juncture I was happier that the Bollywood music had been brought to an abrupt end more than anything else. A group of five men set about replacing the tyre and ensured the nuts were loosened, replaced and the tightly held in place by creatively hanging from the end of an 8 foot crow bar. Whatever gets the job done.
Back on the bus and back to my seat. I was now ready for a good sleep; the man directly next to me had the same idea sprawled across the back row. I'd like to say this was the end of the drama. Alas it wasn't to be. Not this time. Given the minute amount of space available for my head I'd had to make myself a makeshift pillow. In this case it was a bag of various scarves and table decorations I'd bought from Laos as gifts. It made for a wonderful little headrest. As I settled down I decided to open the window for some fresh air. In size more of a small vent than a window, but nevertheless enough to feel a well needed breeze. Unfortunately, it also provided for the perfect sized whole through which my bag of Laos collectibles disappeared. Gone. One hastened movement of the head had pushed the bag too close to the window and where it was sucked directly out into the open road. This was not turning out to be the bus journey I had hoped for. My initial reaction was to scream out to the bus driver. However it was dark, late and I was on a bus two hours late, which would have been a good mile down the road before my screams had made any sense to the bus driver. My sense of loss was brief and momentary and allowed me to reflect upon a guiding Buddhist philosophy that I keep close by my side. 'Hold on to nothing for everything is impermanent'. And so I did. I calmly sat back and smiled. This was all part of the experience and I hadn't lost anything that couldn't be replaced. Aside from the tiredness, I was in fact remarkably content and happy. I was living real life on the road and was happy to embrace all that it entailed. The good, the bad and the just plain unlucky.
Comments